


Expectations//Reality

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [8]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Comedy, Friendship, Gen, Knives, Light-Hearted, Lylat Wars, Oneshot, friendship fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: Star Wolf is deployed to Fichina to bomb a Cornerian military base.  On the way over, Andrew has a bizarre request of callous assassin Leon Powalski and Leon is beyond intrigued.
Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/51568
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Expectations//Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during the Lylat Wars and is inspired by the Fichina mission in SF64.
> 
> This was requested by a friend of mine named Rose. <3 She wanted me to talk about some Leon and Andrew headcanons and it really turned into this. I have quite a bit of thoughts about Andrew and Leon and until this fic, I hadn't really gotten to explore that particular friendship (if you could call it a friendship...). So this was really fun to write!
> 
> My personal headcanon involving the two is that Leon had to guard Andrew a lot in the time before the Lylat Wars when Venom was building its armies and Andross was trying to figure out how to get rid of James. Leon was... not necessarily a fan of this. Many shenanigans ensued. I may write an episodic comedy story featuring the two in a pre-Lylat Wars Venom setting once I've finished a few projects.
> 
> Please enjoy the oneshot!

“Leon.”

Glancing up from his book, the lizard studied the intruder with a scrutinizing set of fiery eyes. It was not often that anyone found him in his room, much less barged in without warning. The assassin contemplated momentarily on setting up a passcode on his bedroom door to keep out the annoying pests (ie—anyone other than Wolf). Perhaps that would be too much work, he thought grumpily. Maybe a booby-trap with knives was a much better alternative…

“Andrew,” Leon said before permitting his gaze to flit back to the words on the page before him. The novel he had opted to read for their flight between planets was one that his sister had given to him—a book with a shirtless leopard on it. His sister had told him that it was “his type” of book. So far it had only been about politics… and the main character vividly describing the pectorals of a leopard bachelor with a promiscuous reputation.

“Whoa… what… what are you reading?” Andrew asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Defensively, the lizard lowered the book to his stomach, glaring at the simian with narrowed eyes.

“A book. What are you doing here, Andrew?”

“Oh. Uhhh… I was just bored.”

“That is nice,” Leon said in a tone that most assuredly sounded like it was not nice and that he was not interested in discussing it further. 

Usually Leon’s dismissive tone was enough to banish even the most curious but a few seconds later, when the lizard glanced up again, he took note that Andrew was still in his doorway, looking at him like a puzzled child. The assassin gradually lowered the book, glaring over the top of it directly at Andrew’s confused mug. 

“Can I… help you?” Leon asked him moodily. Despite Andrew’s irritating personality (that was the only way Leon could describe it), he supposed the simian was still technically royalty. Andross doted upon the boy like a babe at times. Leon wished his emperor would take a more traditional Venomian approach with the child—shove him out into the wilds with a bayonet and rations for a week, see if he can survive the harsh reality of nature.

“Yeah,” Andrew said, nodding up and down dumbly.

With a sigh, Leon put his book aside, carefully sliding in his bookmark to keep his spot. Understanding he was likely not going to be returning to his peace and quiet for a few minutes, the reptile looked tiredly to the simian. 

“Can you teach me how to throw knives?” Andrew asked him and Leon blinked in reply.

_Did I hear that right?_

When Andrew had come to Venom, wide-eyed and eager to find his uncle amid the rumors of surviving his exile, Leon had passed his brutal judgment over the young simian quickly. He was a boy of interests… but never one to follow through. Andross had named Leon his temporary body guard up until the prelude of the Lylat Wars and while Leon had learned much about Andrew’s personality, the lizard was fairly convinced his earliest assessments of the boy had been most accurate. Andrew was unaccustomed to this life of war, despite having fulfilled a few years at the supposed prestigious Cornerian Flight Academy. He was a child playing soldier… and when Andross had appointed him as a member of the elite Star Wolf team, Leon had silently screamed with every fiber of his being.

But there was a dual motive here. Andrew was getting the experience he needed in combat. He was able to shadow Wolf, learning the tricks of the trade from one of the most skilled pilots out there. And, in return, he was not on the front lines of combat. He was under the careful eye of three elites. Precisely where Andross wanted him to be.

Yet despite Andrew’s close proximity to what Leon would describe only as “greatness” (even Pigma, the lizard reasoned, was good at his job, albeit annoying to be around), the simian failed to achieve much of anything other than the basics. He flew with… some skill. But he was still a novice. And he seemed more or less willing to act out the part of a soldier but not actually commit himself. Leon had begun to wonder if this was all a game to him. 

And it was for those reasons that Leon found himself… intrigued by the successor’s question.

“Why?” the lizard replied curiously.

“I… think it’d be a good idea, since I never learned how to fight with melee weapons like you did. It’s something I could um… add to my skill set,” Andrew said with confidence that left Leon feeling extremely suspicious but the lizard decided to shove that aside. Knife throwing was a hobby of the Venomian’s—perhaps that was why he felt inclined to tutor Andrew. 

“Okay. Let’s go to the practice room,” Leon said, sitting upright in his bed.

“Alright!” Andrew exclaimed excitedly.

Leon bent down, reaching for a case beneath his bed. He hooked his thin fingers around the case’s handle, sliding it out. It was a gray case, bulky and heavier than its size would indicate. Andrew’s eyes grew to the size of grapefruits as he looked it over, tilting his head in childish wonder. Leon smirked, bending down and lifting it up. 

“Come,” the lizard said and they navigated their way to the training room, which was found in the lower deck of the carrier.

The training facility was small, an abbreviated variant of one found at one of the Venomian military bases. A small machine sat in the corner, lined with clay targets that were ready to fire at a moment’s notice. When Leon walked in, he felt the brisk air caress over his face. The Venomian gave a shiver. They always kept it cold in the facility—it was supposed to make people move _faster_ or some nonsense. Leon hated it. His homeworld had always been warm. The cold was not his cup of tea in the slightest.

He found a nearby bench and rested the gray case onto it. Popping it open, he stepped back to let Andrew feast his eyes upon the collection of knives within. It was a sliver of the Venomian’s stash, comprised of the best combative daggers he owned. Andrew’s eyes lit up and he pulled a dagger out. It was a black one with a hard handle with engraved gripping pointed for each finger. The simian held it up, letting the light reflect off of its midnight blade.

“Where’d you get these?” Andrew asked him.

“Venom,” Leon shrugged. “Your uncle presented them to me. I think he said they were forged on Macbeth, though.”

“Do you keep them all sharp?” Andrew inquired. He ran his thumb along the flat of the blade, too scared to try its edge. Leon smirked.

“There’s little use for a dull blade,” Leon remarked. He selected a thin, small blade then walked over towards the control panel. After he had powered it on, it prompted him to select a target type. Leon set it on the easiest mode possible—throwing knives required a bit more muscle finesse than a blaster. The lizard took one look at young, novice Andrew and knew the lad needed to start off with the utmost basics.

A single dummy rose from the ground. It had been vaguely modeled after James McCloud—a touch from Pigma, no doubt. Leon squared off with the dummy, leaving a berth of about fifteen feet. The Venomian held up the dagger, showing his grip to Andrew. He shifted into his knife throwing stance, sliding his right foot in front. He peeled the knife back, cocking his arm until the blade was behind his head. When he threw, it felt the dagger fly effortlessly from his palm, somersaulting through the air and then sticking directly into the dummy’s gut.

“Did you see how I did that?” Leon asked Andrew, who looked positively enamored. The Venomian retrieved his blade, then handed it to Andrew, gesturing for him to give it a shot.

Andrew sidled up to the throwing point. Leon detected the errors in his posture right away. The simian stood slightly to the side, peeling a shoulder back—the incorrect one, opposite of his dominant hand. Leon watched him pull back a hand clumsily, not bending the elbow nearly enough. Andrew’s eyes darted to the Venomian for approval. Leon did not give it but gestured again for Andrew to give it a try. With teeth bared into a growl, Andrew threw the knife. It spun awkwardly, thudding against the floor a few feet ahead of the dummy. The monkey’s ears visibly drooped.

“Bend the elbow more. Stand with your dominant shoulder in the front,” Leon instructed, flicking a wrist to indicate that the simian should go retrieve his knife. When Andrew obeyed, it was begrudging, his head lowered with irritation. 

The second attempt was no better than the first. Leon watched the blade fly and collide into the dummy, bouncing back with surprising force. The reptile blinked and Andrew retrieved it.

“Bend elbow more,” Leon repeated.

“I did!” Andrew exclaimed with frustration. He lined himself up again, dramatically bending his elbow. The ape snuck a glance at Leon, who gave him a very subtle approving nod. Andrew must have taken the nod as a sign to go because the young heir promptly threw the knife with an abundance of enthusiasm. It whistled through the air, cutting over the dummy’s head, then fell to the ground.

“Closer,” Leon nodded.

“This feels like it’s gonna take a lot of practice,” Andrew commented as he fetched the knife.

“Of course it will,” Leon replied, scaly brow furrowed in confused. He understood his liege’s successor was naïve… but this felt unreal. “Did you think I learned it in one day? One month, even?”

“One month!?” Andrew exclaimed, looking down at the knife. “Ugh.”

“Less talk, more reps,” Leon gestured for the monkey to toss the knife once more.

“They make it look so easy,” Andrew grumbled. With far less confidence, he peeled his arm back and then launched the knife. It was a weaker throw, landing a foot short of the dummy. Andrew sighed dramatically.

“Who is ‘they’?” Leon asked suspiciously.

“Oh…” Andrew looked down. “Um… It’s nothing.” Heels dragging, he went to pick up the knife again. 

Leon was unconvinced; the simian seemed truly _bothered_ and though Leon was loathed to get involved into any emotional or dramatic affairs, he could not deny that he was at least _curious_. Although Andross had relieved him of his post as the young successor’s body guard, Leon was having issues coming to terms with certain aspects of his job changing—and that included making sure Andrew was fine. Or, well, at least relatively free from complaint. He would have loathed to hear the heir speak ill of the team to Andross. Despite their leader being a distinct man of intellect and tempered emotion, Andross seemed to fall to his emotions when it came to his darling nephew.

The assassin approached Andrew, eyeing the ape up and down warily. As Andrew began to ready his pose, Leon reached out with both hands. Tenderly, he adjusted Andrew’s stance, nudging his feet slightly apart with the toe of his boot. When at last he had fixed the heir’s posture, he gave an approving nod and Andrew loosed the knife. It spun one too many times, its handle colliding into the dummy’s chest. But otherwise, Leon would have considered it a successful strike. Andrew’s expression, however, told him the simian did not share the sentiment.

“What is it?” Leon asked him. Andrew scratched behind one of his pointed ears, dodging the reptile’s look. Leon scowled at him, voice turning harsh. He did not like to play games. “Out with it.” 

“It just seemed so easy,” Andrew began. “I thought… I don’t know. I’d get it easily.”

“You’ve _barely_ begun to practice,” Leon shook his head. “Setting lofty goals for yourself over something like this is not ideal and you will only sting your own pride in the end.”

“It’s just…” Andrew shifted his weight. “When I watch you or Spike Seagull, I feel like it looks so effortless…”

“ _Who?_ ” Leon asked, squinting.

“Oh… uh…” Andrew’s cheeks flushed. “It’s um… it’s just this guy I saw, who throw knives… kinda… kinda obscure, maybe you wouldn’t know him.”

“I… see,” Leon folded his arms. “Well, I cannot speak for his experience, but I am certain he also did many reps of knife throwing. Training is paramount, Andrew.” He gestured to the dummy. “Again.”

It was an hour before Andrew was ready to call it quits—and Leon was quite impressed the monkey had even lasted that long. He was familiar with Andrew’s spontaneous flights of fancy but this particular one seemed to be somehow more important to the young heir than the others. Whatever the reasoning was for it, Leon did not care; the boy wanted to learn something that could be useful in the war and Leon would have been a poor teammate to deny him extra skills. Perhaps one day, the chameleon thought as he wandered back down the corridor towards his room, their lives would hinge on the probability of Andrew throwing a knife into an enemy’s throat. Though he shuddered to think of such a horrible set of circumstances, he carried along with the nightmarish reverie until the scenario satisfied him with Andrew managing to perform the simple task and their team escaping victoriously.

Leon did not think of their training session again, not until he awoke again twelve hours later, snugly wrapped in his blankets in his bed. The air in the room was crisp and cold. He did not want to rise but a glance at how long had passed bade him to do so anyways. With a scowl, he wrapped himself up in his blanket and crawled out of bed, stumbling towards his closet. It was strange to him how fast their vessel moved despite it still taking so long to reach their destination. Space travel was odd and he wondered if he would ever get used to it.

Once he had finished his morning routine and had donned his uniform, he remembered Andrew’s request to teach him how to learn knife throwing. The reptile considered letting Andrew come back to him for more practice but knew the simian was likely going to shirk training for a less practical usage of his time. So he wandered down the hall towards Andrew’s door, knocking twice.

He heard stumbling. Unsteady footsteps grew louder and louder until the door slid open, revealing a still half-asleep Andrew. His white fur stuck out in every awkward angle and a glob of dried spit had coated his rosy pink mug, spreading into the hair of his right cheek. Leon’s mouth creased into a single, unimpressed straight line. His muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“Good morning,” the chameleon said pleasantly but did not hide the fact that he was very clearly judging Andrew’s current state.

“Mornin’,” Andrew yawned, exposing his curved fangs for a few brief seconds. “Whaddya need?”

“It is time to train,” Leon said. The edges of his mouth curled into an uncanny smile. 

“Train?” Andrew asked incredulously, words still vaguely slurred.

“Yes. Did you think it would only take the one session?” Leon asked.

“It’s so early,” Andrew complained. “Do we have to?”

“Learning a skill only halfway does no one good,” Leon responded mechanically.

Andrew groaned but it was an incoherent noise. Both hands went to his face, rubbing it up and down. He retreated into his room, leaving the door open. Despite himself, Leon wandered in two steps, looking about the cozy room.

The walls had been largely taken over by posters. They were of characters Leon had heard the Emperor describe as… “cartoons”, depicted by the hand of an artist and created in someone’s mind. They were like legends that had been made visual, designed to reflect the Cornerian standard of what was appropriate. They were all slender, their bodies drawn in an angled way that Leon supposed made them look sharper, somehow, as though the slant of their shoulders somehow made them more capable of fighting… a sort of logic that defied all logic at all, but the lizard was certain he at least grasped the basics of what was _supposed_ to be appealing. 

Andrew was throwing laundry about his room, trying to find something. Most of his clothes had fallen onto the floor. Leon paid him no mind, looking over the strange decorum he had put around his room. 

There was a fake sword on a shelf nearby. Leon knew it was fake instantly from the overt sheen of the blade. Its hilt had been given a chain of sorts that the reptile found utterly ridiculous. He looked from the sword to a coat rack with a few elegant, gaudy robes—black with red swirls, white with blue swirls, all sorts of strange, eye-provoking hues…

His orange eyes then fell upon the final poster. It was an avian, white plumed with daggers for eyes. He had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, the poster angled to look down at him as he glared defiantly upwards with a set of dark brown eyes. Under his boots read the name “SPIKE SEAGULL” and Leon felt the wind escape his lungs with such an abrupt sigh that he found himself reeling.

“What?” Andrew asked, looking back at him. He had found his uniform jacket under his laundry bin somehow.

_I should have known._

Speechless, the lizard let his gaze crawl from the dashing avian to the wide-eyed simian rummaging about his room like a hobo in a dumpsite. Was this a game to him? Did he think it would be as the artists described it in their fluffed up stories? Did he think it would be full of grandeur? Stories were just that—stories. Fabrications to indulge emotions. Illusions to sway minds. They were _wastes of time_ and the fact that Andrew was doing this so he could be like some fake hero made Leon’s stomach turn.

“Hopeless,” Leon said flatly to the monkey, promptly turning and heading back into the hall.

“Whaaaaa? Hey!” He could hear Andrew stumbling after him. Leon did not stop even as the footsteps grew louder and more hurried. A hand reached out and grabbed Leon’s wrist. The lizard turned with a hiss, wriggling his wrist out of Andrew’s grip.

“Leon, what’s gotten into you?”

“Andrew. This is war. This is not your TV shows. This is _real_.”

“I… I know that! Stop assuming things!”

“You are letting idolization of something that is not real blind you. When you are on a battlefield, it is chaos and you must clear your head of these… idealistic, _grand_ thoughts!” Leon scolded him. 

“I know,” Andrew replied firmly.

Leon opened his mouth to argue more, feeling his rage circulate like a deadly tornado. But something about the way Andrew was looking at him made him reconsider. He was determined—Leon could sense it. In most cases, that would have not mattered. But Leon had seen that look before. The scrunched up brow, wrought with repressed emotion. The curve of his lower lip into a frown, the way it shivered and pressed into his top lip. Yes. It was coming back to the assassin. The Emperor made that same face when he had his mind set on something. 

“… fine,” Leon relented. “But you will promise to do this for the good of the cause.”

“I promise,” Andrew said. “Gimme a bit, and I’ll be ready. Meet you in the training center?”

“Sure,” Leon nodded and Andrew went back into his room, shutting the door behind him.

_There are many days I fear for Venom’s future. Andrew tries so hard to be his uncle but he is not him. That much is clear from a mere look at him. And yet, I admit… perhaps they are not as different as some might think._

With the tiniest of smiles, Leon departed down the hall.


End file.
